


Into the Breach

by Cbear2470



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: -Ish, Alternate Universe, Angst, Annoyed that he isn't, Chris and Phichit are the sassy and supportive friends everyone needs, Drama, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mind reader AU, Oblivious Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Rival AU, Secrets, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cbear2470/pseuds/Cbear2470
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki could best be described as untouchable. Not as a skater, essentially. In fact, his performances were hit or miss. Not emotionally, either. Early in his career, he’d earned the monikerthe skater with the heart of glass.But, as a person, Yuuri was downright impenetrable.Some people thought it was snobbish, the way he shut out the world. But it didn’t have anything to do with ego at all. It wasn’t apathy. If anything it was opposite. All he was really trying to do was give everyone a little bit of privacy.It was self-preservation.It was what was best for him and everyone else.(Or, Yuuri is a mind reader, and Viktor has a lot on his mind.)





	1. Chapter 1

Yuuri Katsuki could best be described as untouchable.

Not as a skater, essentially. In fact, his performances were hit or miss.

Not emotionally, either. Early in his career, he’d earned the moniker the _skater with the heart of glass._

But, as a person, Yuuri was downright impenetrable.

Some people thought it was snobbish, the way he shut out the world.

And Yuuri understood how people could think that way—

Yuuri, with his never absent headphones stuck over his ears and his eyes on the ground. Yuuri, who never quite looked at you while you spoke if you did happen to get his attention. Yuuri, who never really seemed to be listening to you even when you were talking straight to him.

But it wasn’t snobbishness. Or an ego. Or any of the millions of other things Yuuri _knew_ that people thought of him.

 _“Yuuri—will you look at me when I talk to you!”_ One of Yuuri’s first coaches, back when he was still a novice in Japan, had scolded him once. Yuuri had been beating himself up about still not consistently landing doubles when he wanted to start working on triples, and not listening as his coach told him to stop.

But when Yuuri had looked, and he’d _heard_ , “ _This kid is never going to make it as a skater unless both is ego and his waistline shrink_.”

And when Yuuri finally made his junior debut at a regional competition, determined to make it to nationals his first year, the cost of his hobby on his family all at once had become apparent to him.

His mother had caught him soaking his battered feet one evening and Yuuri had hesitantly admitted after some prodding on his mother’s part and tears on his, that he was growing out of his boots and really needed new ones but hadn’t wanted to ask. His mother had reassured him him, _“We support you, no matter what, we’ll make it work. You’re following your dreams, that’s all we could ever want of you.”_

But when he looked up at her as she stoked his hair, he’d heard, _“He’s so fragile, I wish he’d give it up before if breaks him.”_

And then there was when the first boy that Yuuri had ever thought he’d liked, or the first boy he liked who had seemed to have liked him back, anyway, had said, _“I love you.”_

But when Yuuri had looked into his eyes ready to say it back, he’d heard, _“If I’m going to settle, he could at least let me fuck him.”_

So it didn’t have anything to do with ego at all. It wasn’t apathy. If anything it was opposite.

All he was really trying to do was give everyone a little bit of _privacy_.

It was self-preservation.

It was what was best for him and everyone else.

*

Yuuri had learned, over the course of his life, how to cope with his ability.

And he’d also learned to not always hold things he heard inside of people minds against them.

He had plenty of thoughts too that weren’t beautiful and kind. He could sometimes be petty and cruel to himself and others inside his head.

But, when all he had to do was look at a person to hear their thoughts as clearly as if they were talking into his ear, he still certainly tried to minimize what he heard.

He wore headphones with constant music or audiobooks or podcasts, anything that he could play over the thoughts that slipped in to try and dull them. He never wore his glasses when competing, or in other crowded environments, because for some reason if his vision was a bit fuzzy, the thoughts were fuzzy too. And he avoided eye contact. If he spoke to people, he tended to look right past them or focus on some detail, like an earring or the collar of their shirt—anything that wasn’t them.

And he skated. Partially because skating wasn’t something that with his _ability_ he could cheat at.

If he were a doctor, or a lawyer, or a salesman, or a professional medium, whatever, he could be good at it, sure. But too good at it. Good in ways that weren’t fair. Good in ways he could never explain. He could know a patient’s symptoms without having to ask, what the defendant was lying about, what to say to get a person to lay down their credit card, what kind of perfume someone’s grandmother used to wear and the color of their late cat.

But figure skating was all _his_ body and _his_ mind. It had nothing to do with anyone else. He had no advantage. He could have as much or as little skill at it as any other person who worked hard and got lucky could.

But, really, the main reason he skated was because it was lonely.

Because most of the time, he could get through a day without having to look at anyone except for Phichit and Celestino—two people he trusted to not give too much weight to their occasional fleeting frustrated and disappointed thought directed at him in the scope of their entire relationship.

But when he was on the ice, the only thing he ever heard was the music. He moved too quickly across the ice, spun too fast to focus onto any one person in the crowd.

His life off the ice was hard. It was full of accommodations he had to take for himself to keep from losing his mind and his faith in humanity and trust in people.

But on the ice, it was easy. Skating was the easiest part of his life. He didn’t love it in spite of the days he got up at 4:00 AM to start training, in spite of the aches and pains and strains and injuries, in spite of the sacrifices to his personal life, to his education, to his family, in spite of the immense pressure the hung over his solo performance.

He loved it because of those things.

So, maybe he was kind of cheating after all.

*

Phichit Chulanont was one of the only people in the world that Yuuri could regularly look at.

He was one of those rare people that really and truly rarely thought badly of anyone. And when he did, it usually took the form of a light hearted if slightly cutting joke or was usually followed up with sympathy.

He was also one of the only people, the only other person having been his childhood ballet teacher Minako, that knew about his ability.

He’d lived with Phichit for a year and a half before he considered coming out about it. He thought he’d spend months, though, trying to find the courage and the right time to actually manage to do it.

But then, somehow, it kind of just happened, in a crazy kismet way that made Yuuri think that if mind reading was real, maybe some kind of higher power or puppet master was too.

Only a couple of weeks of Yuuri stressing out about the guilt of not telling his best friend and roommate and rinkmate went by before one night, while Yuuri was sitting on the couch with Phichit, watching some Syfy movie, Phichit, in reference to a telepathic character said, “Do you ever sometimes become so paranoid that everyone you know are secretly mind readers that you try and stop thinking?”

And for a second, Yuuri was silent, his breath held under what felt like a two-ton weight on his chest.

Then he said, “Not really,” and then paused. “I feel like if I’d ever been in the company of another mind-reader, they would have told me. Or I would have known.”

And at first Phichit didn’t react, just nodded and stuffed another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

But then, what Yuuri said seemed to register, and he looked at Yuuri. And Yuuri, still holding his breath, looked back.

Then Phichit laughed, clearly deciding it was some kind of bad joke that he didn’t understand but should take pity on and laugh at. But Yuuri heard, _“Did he just say_ other _mind readers?”_ echoing inside his head.

So, Yuuri closed his eyes and exhaled.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I did say that.”

Yuuri opened his eyes and looked back at Phichit to see his jaw dropped.

“ _Really?”_ he thought.

Yuuri nodded.

“ _So, you’re telling me all this time we could have been having secret telepathic conversations at practice behind—or actually not behind—Ciao Ciao’s back?”_

“I have to respond out loud, I can’t like, let you into my head,” Yuuri shrugged, trying to act casual but his entire body was tingling.

“Well sure!” Phichit said aloud, clearly excited. “But you have always been more of a smile and nod conversationalist anyway!”

“And you’ve never been one to be able to keep your mouth shut,” Yuuri pointed out, feeling a smile tugging at his lips in spite of everything.

Phichit slammed his mouth shut, clamping his hands over his mouth, and thought at Yuuri again.

_“So how does it work?”_

“I have to be looking at you. Not directly in the eyes or anything, but see your face, usually, though sometimes profile works too.”

“So that’s why you never look at anyone!” Phichit exclaimed, before clamping his mouth shut again.

 _“That explains so much,”_ Phichit thought, and Yuuri could tell it was a real thought, not Phichit trying to talk in his mind at Yuuri.

Yuuri nodded, and then looked down in his lap nervously.

“If you want some time to have thoughts you don’t want me to hear, I can look away for a while. Or give you some alone time,” he said quietly.

Phichit was amazing, but this was, well probably mind-bending news. Even someone as wonderful as Phichit probably needed some time to process.

“Yuuri, look at me,” Phichit said.

It was a command that Yuuri had gotten used to not obeying.

For Phichit though, he did, raising his head and looking Phichit dead in the eyes.

But Phichit didn’t think anything that didn’t come out of his mouth.

“You, Katsuki Yuuri, are the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and as far as I’m concerned, your  artistry on the ice is still the most spectacular thing about you. This hardly even makes the list in comparison to the mind-boggling things that you can do on the ice.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say to something like that, so he deflected.

“I’m only just started working on my first quad and I’m twenty-two. I should probably give up and retire soon.”

_“Oh, Yuuri.”_

That was a thought that Phichit had often.

It was usually followed by—

“Don’t you see how amazing you are?” Phichit said aloud, for the first time.

And Yuuri didn’t. Because of course he didn’t. He had stacks and stacks of evidence that people thought of him as a problem that needed to be fixed at worst and a consolation prize at best.

But, putting all of that aside, Yuuri could see that at least as far as him and Phichit were concerned, maybe things were going to be okay.

*

“I can’t look,” Yuuri said, cranking up the music in the earbuds that sat in his ears and covering his eyes with his hands.

Yuuri was at Skate America, his second Grand Prix assignment. Phichit stood beside him from their seats not too far from the rink. Phichit wasn’t competing, but instead had tagged along as a member of Yuuri’s team.

It was the free skate, and after the short program Yuuri had been in second, and was currently hanging on right behind Jean Jacques Leroy. If he held on, in combination with his Gold from the NHK cup, Yuuri would almost definitely qualify for the final for the first time, baring some very strange upset at Skate Canada. But Viktor Nikiforov was competing there, so an upset was very unlikely.

But, if Georgi Popovich edged him out into third, he’d likely lose the spot to him.

He could hear the announcer droning the score out across the stadium faintly under the music but ignored it. He could hear the crowd react but ignored it.

“Yuuri, look at me,” Phichit said, close to his ear and loud enough that he could hear it.

Yuuri looked up.

“ _You did it.”_

Yuuri glanced behind Phichit to look at the score board.

He had.

_*_

When Yuuri told himself he couldn’t cheat at figure skating with his ability, that wasn’t 100 percent true, he’d learned over the years. If he wanted to, or wasn’t trying hard enough to block the world out, Yuuri could slip into the mind of judges and see what he’d need to do for them to score him higher. He could see if competitors who were competing after him planned to up a jump or change an element. He could see if his competitors felt confident in their jumps, or if they planned to downgrade.

And Yuuri could tweak his own performance, accordingly, take risks if he needed to in order to stand a chance, or not take risks when he didn’t.

But, Yuuri tried very, very, very hard not to do this.

Because it was, frankly, cheating.

Which is why he had a hard rule about not interacting with any of his competitors, at all, ever, at a competition.

Unfortunately for him, Christophe Giacometti had never been one for rules.

“Well, finally, some real competition at the final,” Chris said, pulling Yuuri’s headphones off his head, an offense that should have been worth the death penalty, but that Chris somehow would inevitably get away with.

“Hi Chris,” Yuuri said, every interaction with Chris constantly serving to cause him to regret ever having allowed himself to become a target of fixation for the other man back all those years ago when they competed in junior’s together.

“Hi darling,” he said, his smile coy and still holding Yuuri’s headphones just out of reach.

In the grand scheme of things, Yuuri didn’t mind Chris that much. His thoughts were often petty, but rarely cruel. They were, however, often though fairly obscene, which was something Yuuri could do without.

But at least if Chris was going to think something dirty about Yuuri’s ass, there was an 85 percent chance he’d tell Yuuri to his face. Which was a trait he could appreciate, although less so in this particular situation.

And, it wasn’t like Chris only enjoyed objectifying Yuuri only. He did it to pretty much everyone.

“So, have you told Viktor about your plans to defeat him yet?”

Sometimes, Yuuri wondered if Chris was a mind reader as well but hadn’t told Yuuri because he got too much joy out of taunting him. Because he’d certainly never admitted to wanting to beat Viktor out loud to anyone except Phichit and Celestino.

“I only have one quad, there’s no way I’d beat Viktor unless he decided to not even try at all. And then even still I’d need to skate my programs better than I ever have in competition before.”

“Your PCS scores are occasionally higher than his, you know. It wouldn’t be impossible for you to edge him out there.”

“Maybe not impossible,” Yuuri said. “But it would take a miracle.”

But the fact of the matter was, of course, that Yuuri was really hoping for that miracle.

“Hm,” Chris said. “If that’s your attitude, then I suppose I shouldn’t place any bets.”

“I’m not sure you’re allowed to place bets on competitions you’re competing in,” Yuuri pointed out. “Now, can I please have my headphones back?”

Chris sighed dramatically.

“Fine,” he said. “But only because I do love to watch you walk away.”

*

Yuuri didn’t usually watch his competitors.

It was less a mind reading concern, and more a regular, run of the mill nerves concern. Even if Yuuri had already gone, he couldn’t bare having even a sense of whether another skater seemed to be having an on or off competition.

But, Yuuri couldn’t help but watch Viktor.

After the short program, Yuuri was somehow in third place. Victor would inevitably knock him down to fourth, but at least it wasn’t last. And as much as he wanted to medal, as much as he wanted to _win_ , Yuuri had had a sinking feeling that he was destined for sixth.

But, fourth place after the short wasn’t a death sentence. He still had a solid chance at bronze, maybe even silver. And, if there was a miracle upset, maybe even first.

So, as a reward, he left himself watch his idol.

Yuuri had a sinking suspicion that the only reason he was able to love Viktor Nikiforov, champion of everything Russian skating god, was because he had never met the man.

None the less looked him in the face and had a conversation.

The saying went, _never meet your idols,_ and Yuuri was sure that phrase aptly applied to whatever Yuuri-soul-crushing thoughts existed inside the champions mind.

And Yuuri was determined to never find out.

He’d successfully avoided Viktor at the World Championship these past few years, but it was easy there, where there were dozens of competitors in the men’s singles competition alone, and he and Viktor were never in the same group.

But here, there were six competitors in the men’s singles competition, and Yuuri had had to put his aloof and distant persona and all his avoidance skills to the test.

Yuuri had heard that Viktor was sometimes friendly, and he couldn’t risk bumping into him.

But he could safely watch him perform from his seat at the edge of the rink.

“He’s always very stunning, isn’t he?” someone asked beside him, and Yuuri recognized the European-accent as Chris.

Yuuri didn’t feel like he needed to dignify that with a response, because A. _Obviously_ and B. He wasn’t particularly interested in taking his eyes off Viktor only to get a get a glimpse of whoever Chris was inevitably undressing in his mind.

Chris also knew Victor personally, and Yuuri wasn’t interested in getting even a snapshot into that behind the scenes relationship.

“He’s asked me about you before, you know,” Chris said, apparently not interested in complying with Yuuri’s mental wishes.

And Yuuri didn’t. He spent a lot of effort making sure he didn’t know things like that. Details that he didn’t feel he had any place to be privy to.

So, he said nothing and watched as Viktor landed a triple axel.

“He does see you as a competitor, it’s not like he doesn’t even know you exist. That’s something he’s good at. Some people always see the best in people, and Viktor’s a bit like that, but his version of best tends to mean having the capacity to be better than him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Yuuri finally asked.

“To try and knock him off the pedestal you’ve placed him on in your mind, I guess,” Chris said. “You’re never going to beat him if you don’t even think you’re worthy of skating on the same ice as him.”

“What incentive do you have for me to beat him?” Yuuri said. “Shouldn’t you be trying to do that?” Yuuri said, leaning back a bit as Viktor’s program slowed into a masterful step sequence.

“Oh, trust me, I have been,” he said. “But you’re, I don’t know, you’ve always been more interesting. Everyone thinks you’re so unaffected. The perfect rival. But that’s not how it is, is it?” Chris said. “And that makes for such an interesting story.”

“Stay out of my head, Chris,” Yuuri said.

“Only if you try and get into Viktor’s,” Chris said in a way that Yuuri almost wondered if he realized the irony of it.

“Are you harassing my student, Giacometti?” Celestino thankfully swooped in to Yuuri’s rescue.

“Oh, only always,” Chris said.

“Well, shoo,” Celestino scolded, and Yuuri, not taking his eyes off Viktor on this ice as he slid into his final pose, felt Chris leave.

“He wasn’t bothering you too much, I hope,” Celestino said, taking up the space Chris had previously occupied beside him. “I’d say I’d have a chat with his coach, but I’m sure that you know as well as I do at this point that Christophe does what he wants.”

Yuuri chuckled, mostly to be amicable, as tossies rained down on the ice around Viktor.

“Don’t worry,” Yuuri said. “I’m just going to keep by head down and do my best as always,” Yuuri reassured, and he fully meant it.

*

The free skate program was the next day, and that evening, Yuuri did exactly as he always did.

He had dinner with Celestino. He went back to his hotel room to shower and ice his legs and relax.

Or, at least he did until he got a text from his sister late that night following the short program, letting him know that Vicchan was at the vets with an infection, and there was concern about the prognosis.

Then everything shifted.

And Yuuri stress ate an entire bag of some sort of weird flavor of Russian potato chips and some kind of strange gummy candy that tasted of nothing in particular but yet Yuuri ate two packets of.

And he cried himself to sleep some point way after midnight.

And woke up the next morning feeling like death.

But the show had to go on. So Yuuri iced his face to try and make it less puffy and applied some concealer to try and look less of a mess and started to pray for his performance.

But he already knew that chances of him being able to get his head in it were slim.

He felt like he’d already lost.

He’d already made plans, actually, for when he did, sometime late last night. He’d finish school and try to see if he could make a comeback at nationals but would probably fail. He’d go home, maybe, for the first time in five years. It was long overdue. His season would be over, he’d be graduated, he’d have nothing else to do.

And maybe he’d retire.

The plan was dangling there, pulling at his brain as he sleep-walked through the morning. It wasn’t hard for him today to not pay attention to anyone around him. In fact, he didn’t even need to try. He made it all the way to the arena when Celestino finally seemed to have had enough and pulled him aside.

“Yuuri,” Celestino said. “Look at me.”

Yuuri did.

“ _He needs to get his head back in it. He needs to want it, and right now he doesn’t_.”

“Yuuri, you can do this. You have a medal in you, and you’ve got a good shot at it.”

Yuuri shrugged and Celestino sighed.

“Okay, go get your costume on,” he instructed and Yuuri gladly walked off, slipping his headphones up over his ears and looking down at his phone to find a good, loud song.

“Oops, watch out,” someone said as a hand touched against his shoulder. Startled, Yuuri looked and to his horror saw that he had almost bumped into Viktor Nikiforov.

Reflexively he looked away almost immediately, thankfully not catching anything from the champions mind.

“Oh, you’re Yuuri Katsuki, aren’t you?” he heard Viktor ask.

Yuuri nodded quickly and then looked back over his shoulder like he was looking for someone, a practiced trick of his to avoid eye contact and seem impatient.

“I enjoyed your program yesterday, you have a knack for, eh, telling stories with your body.”

Yuuri might have blushed if he didn’t feel so checked out.

“Thanks,” Yuuri said, using the opportunity to look down in a gesture of nervous modesty.

“I’m looking forward to your performance today,” Viktor said and Yuuri couldn’t help but flinch.

Yuuri certainly wasn’t. If he had any real reason to withdraw, he would. But a sick dog you haven’t seen in five years didn’t seem like a good enough reason, even if it felt like the end of everything.

Yuuri looked back over his shoulder nervously again.

“I should go. I need to get ready.”

“Okay,” Viktor said and Yuuri was off without a second glance.

 _Which was a shame because Viktor was so beautiful_ … the last undead bit of Yuuri’s heart reminded him.

But then there was a cry, and without thinking, Yuuri spun around and looked right at the Russian skater.

“Wait, Yuuri!” Viktor called out. “Good luck!”

It would have been polite for Yuuri to say the same thing back. It would have been reasonable for him to say it back and then go on his way.

But instead, Yuuri stood frozen as he caught a thought that ran through Viktor’s mind—

“ _I wish I could be more like him_.”

And then—

_“I hope someday he beats me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I instead of starting another fic, work more on my other works on progress? Probably. But, as a reward for having updated two of those for the first time in ages, I rewarded myself with a new angsty fic (with slightly shorter that my usual standard chapters). 
> 
> Let me know what you think, otherwise spontaneous first chapters may fall prey to the "I'll definitely write more some day, but I mean it's kind of a one-shot right?" syndrome.
> 
> Also, this chapter was brought to you by the impending snow storm in New York. The impending first major snow storm of the season, coming to a major metropolitan area near you this March, apparently.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this chapter on and off for... I don't even know how long now I could check but I assume it's been at least months. The list of other things I've done in the mean time is compellingly long though, so....¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ~~(They include things like watching pretty much every single Thai BL/LGBT drama that's been released in the past several years and also getting a full time salaried job with benefits so healthy dichotomies.)~~

Yuuri had come in fourth place. He’d lost third to Jean-Jacque Leroy of Canada by about five points. He was still behind Viktor by about fifty, and a solid twenty-five behind Chris, who’d taken second.

But he’d scored a new personal best for the free program. And he hadn’t come in last.

And for that seasons rankings, he was now fifth in the world. And his world standing had officially jumped from a number that Yuuri had always regarded as embarrassingly low to ninth.

 _Not that anyone cares about mid-season rankings_ , Yuuri reminded himself as he watched the presentation of medals from the sidelines. _I still have to not fuck things up at Four Continents and Worlds._

And then the realization hit.

 _I still have to go to Four Continents and Worlds_. _And back to Japan for Nationals. That's in like a month._

In front of him out in the middle of the rink, Viktor was standing on top of the podium, smiling and waving.

Yuuri noticed, though, there was something not quite right about his face. Or not his face, his face was perfect. Annoyingly symmetrical. But Yuuri could see something there now that he wished he could unsee.

Viktor glanced in what could easily have been only vaguely in his direction, but Yuuri looked away before he could risk eye contact again.

Yuuri found that he was a little glad to be standing there on the sidelines, and not there where Viktor was. Or on one of the steps, probably the lowest one, beside him, as a more realistic best-case scenario.

But if you’d asked Yuuri a few days ago, coming out of this competition not on that podium would have been considered a crushing defeat.

But now, Yuuri wasn’t quite sure how he’d made it this far. He shouldn’t have. He should have stumbled and fallen—most likely literally— several times on the ice during his free skate.

But Yuuri hadn’t.

He’d skated his program as well as he ever had, despite the rattling that Vicchan and Viktor has given him.

And it had taken not one, but a series of small and  sometimes strange miracles. In fact, he wasn’t sure if fourth place was the miracle or not anymore, or if it was instead everything else that happened in the time since the moment that he and Viktor locked eyes.

*

Yuuri stood frozen as he caught the thought that ran through Viktor’s mind—

_“I wish I could be more like him.”_

And then—

_“I hope someday he beats me.”_

And all Yuuri could do was stand, eyes wide, mouth gaping for a moment, until he felt his phone start to ring in his pocket.

Thankfully, the vibrations shaking through his body shook him out of it, and Yuuri was able to pull his eyes off Viktor and turn away as he looked down at his phone.

The caller ID said it was his sister.

And if Yuuri’s stomach already wasn’t trying to burrow itself out of his body through his pelvis, it would have sunk.

No news is good news.

No news leaves room for denial.

“Yeah?” Yuuri answered the phone without so much as a greeting.

“Yuuri!” Mari said. “I know you’re due to skate really soon, but I wanted to let you know Vicchan is home with us,” she announced, her voice fast, not essentially excited, it wasn’t like Mari to like that baring exceptional circumstances, just urgent. “It was kidney stones, not a more serious bladder infection,” she elaborated. “He’s going to be on medication for a while, and he’ll need to eat special food now, but he’ll be okay. Oh, but he has to wear a cone for a while, I’ll send you pictures later, he’s so upset about it.”

“What?” Yuuri asked, the news washing over him like a curtain of icy rain.

“But mom’s more excited about you honestly, we’ve all made it back in time, so we didn’t have to cancel the viewing party.”

“The viewing party?”

“Yeah, we’re all going to be watching,” Mari said in that matter of fact way she said just about everything, and then paused, “Or is that something you didn’t want to know?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Yuuri said. “It’s fine. I really have to go; warmup is in half an hour and I’m still not even dressed. I need to finish stretching.”

“Mm,” Mari hummed, “Okay, I’ll let you go. Good luck Yuuri. We all support you, win or lose.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. And then, “Yeah,” he repeated. “Okay,” and then, “Thank you.”

He heard his sister sigh.

“I wish I could say something that would get you out of your head,” she murmured. “Bye, Yuuri.”

And then she hung up.

“Yuuri!” Celestino called out from behind him, clapping a hand on his back. “What are you still doing without your skates on?”

Yuuri looked down awkwardly at his warm-ups and running shoes.

“I’m heading to the locker room now,” Yuuri reassured.

“Twenty minutes until warm-up, Yuuri,” Celestino reminded. “You better hurry.”

Yuuri nodded and pocketed his phone.

He didn’t know why, but as he walked away, he found himself looking back to where Viktor had been standing.

The other man was gone, as of course he should be.

And as Yuuri should follow.

But a part of Yuuri could still see him, standing there, staring at him.

A part of Yuuri almost imagined that he could have waited for him, falling into step beside Yuuri as they made their way to the locker room together.

*

Yuuri was skating circles on the ice, waiting for his name to be announced so that he could start his program.

He was worried he’d miss it though, because his head just didn’t feel in it.

He felt haunted.

_“I wish I could say something to get you out of your head.”_

_“We support you win or lose.”_

_Win or lose, win or lose…_

_Get you out of your head._

_“The perfect rival.”_

Nothing was perfect about him. He was trapped in his mind; he was trapped in everyone else’s. He only ever lost.

Yuuri grabbed ahold of his head, closing his eyes.

“Yuuri Katsuki, of Japan, skating to Nocturne in B-Flat Minor,” came booming through the arena.

The clock was counting down now. He had to start. His music would start without him.

His theme that season had been “mastery.” The outward idea was that he hoped to master a quad.

The inward idea was that he’d master, well, it felt silly now. What was it he’d meant by that? To master figure skating? To master the ice? The podium?

It seemed ridiculous now.

But now, Yuuri had to skate.

He needed to skate, well or not. Whether everyone believed in him or no one. Win or lose.

And so he did, taking his mark.

And now obviously, he would lose. Obviously. His program wasn’t challenging enough to stand a chance against most of his competitors, none the less Viktor’s. Even if Viktor Nikiforov himself skated Yuuri’s program in his place, it didn’t have a chance of beating Viktor’s Stammi Vicino program.

The Aria program was a work of art. Yuuri’s program was… fine.

Just like the triple axel Yuuri just landed.

Fine.

Yuuri was just fine as a skater, he certainly wasn’t—

_“The perfect rival.”_

What on earth had Chris even meant by that? Sure, he could slice up a step sequence Yuuri thought as he dug into the ice, swinging his body back and forth across the ice. But he couldn’t compete with Viktor.

_“I hope someday he beats me.”_

If Viktor seriously thought Yuuri was his best chance at a rival, then it just showed how unbeatable he was—if he were scouring the ranks for the farthest long shot and hoping for a miracle.

But that’s exactly what Yuuri had been doing? Hadn’t he? In hoping he’d win?

_“I wish I could be more like him.”_

Maybe he and Viktor weren’t all that different after all, Yuuri found himself thinking as he spun out of a combination jump, narrowly avoiding touching down.

Yuuri would need a miracle to win.

And Viktor would need a miracle to lose.

They seemed to be waiting on the same miracle.

Which was the strangest thing of all, to think that Viktor wanted to lose.

You don’t get to the top wanting to lose.

But then maybe you could stay there, praying for defeat.

*

Yuuri was standing in the bathroom in front of the sink, cupping his hands under the faucet. When his hands began to overflow with the luke-warm water, he leant forwards and splashed onto his face. The water dripped down his chin and onto the collar of his warm-up jacket.

Then the door swung open behind him. Yuuri glanced up in the mirror to see a younger boy walk in to the bathroom behind him. His hair was blond and clipped half back, and he was wearing a Russian jacket like Viktor’s.

Yuuri scanned his mind for the Russian juniors. There was one that he remembered there being some kind of hullaballoo over for being a prodigy of sorts. What was his name?

“Hey, you!” the younger skater barked suddenly. “What are you staring at?”

Well, that was certainly not something he was accused of often. But then, reflective surfaces were Yuuri’s saving grace. For some reason, he couldn’t read people through their mirror images. Which Yuuri was perfectly fine with.

“Oh nothing,” Yuuri said, grabbing a wad or paper towels to wipe off his face. “Did you compete today?” Yuuri asked, looking back up at the boy through the mirror and smiling politely, although he was sure he looked tired. “My name is Yuuri.”

At this, the boy began to sputter, sounding a bit like a spitting cat.

“ _I_ am Yuri,” the boy insisted. “Yuri Plisetsky. And I just won gold!”

“Oh, in the juniors, right?” Yuuri asked. He remembered now. The prodigy who was training under Viktor’s coach. Rumors had it he’s landed his first quad at like, thirteen or something.

Yuri made the spitting cat sounds again.

“Gold is always better than fourth place,” Yuri spat. “I only scored four points lower than you overall!”

Yuuri’s brow furrowed at this. Yuri knew him and his score, down to the number? God, Yuuri could barely remember his score.

There was a Yuuri once upon a time who would have those numbers seared into his head, every one of them, all of them, and sometimes he still fell prey. But Yuuri had somewhere along the way let the part of himself that liked to try to feign ignorance win over until somehow, he couldn’t stop feigning.

As a junior though Yuuri had definitely followed seniors of course and marveled at their scores. He probably had charts somewhere in his old bedroom that compared his scores with the seniors, that had programs with mocked up elements to see how many more things he had to get to the next level to be able to stand a change at competing. And Yuuri hadn’t been training in the shadow of Viktor Nikiforov, like this young skater was. If Yuuri had been some kind of super fan from half way across the world, this Yuri had every excuse to be a bit obsessive or the seniors, and Yuuri imagined of Viktor and the competitions he competed in in particular.

“Oh, are you a big fan?” Yuuri asked.

Yuri looked as close as a real human could ever look to an angry cartoon person literally boiling and exploding with rage.

“Of you? Don’t flatter yourself Katsuki.”

Yuuri scrunched up his face.

“Oh no,” Yuuri said. “I didn’t mean me. I meant of Viktor, or of winning maybe.”

Yuuri watched, still through the mirror, as Yuri’s eyes narrowed.

“I am not a fan of that idiot,” Yuri insisted, before spitting out something in Russian Yuuri assumed wasn’t an endearment. “Although I am a fan of winning, and I’m going to beat both of you.

“Well, I’m sure I won’t stand in your way,” Yuuri shrugged, saying it almost instinctively.

The other Yuri looked furious again, although Yuuri wasn’t sure why.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Yuuri said, looking down at the sink. It seemed safest to apologize and deflect, rather than find out what he’d said wrong this time. The water was still running in the sink. Yuuri turned it off. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” he said, finally turning around, being careful to look down and away from Yuri as he did.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Yuri shouted as Yuuri pushed open the bathroom door.

“Hm?” Yuuri said, pausing in the door frame.

“I’m gonna beat you next season when I debut in the seniors!”

Yuuri scrunched up his face. Well probably, if he was even competing anymore. Yuuri had literally just said that.

“Okay,” Yuuri said with a shrug as he took another step out of the bathroom without looking back.

“Wait,” Yuri called again, and for some reason Yuuri did. “And you’re going to beat Viktor!”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide at the notion that teen that Yuuri barely knew suggested. He was glad his back was to the teen.

And he certainly didn’t know how to respond to something like that.

So he didn’t.

Another step and he was out of the bathroom, dropping the door and letting it swing shut behind him.

*

The one unexpected and miraculous thing that didn’t happen for Yuuri though, as the medal ceremony ended and he got ready to leave the arena at the end of the night, was that while Yuuri may have been done competing, the competition wasn’t over. Unfortunately. And Yuuri also hadn’t somehow found a way to get out of the next twenty-four plus hours until his flight took off. Instead, he still had the exhibitions and the banquet tomorrow. Yuuri wouldn’t skate an exhibition, he hadn’t medaled and wasn’t expected to. But he was still expected to stay.

And he was certainly expected at the banquet.

To mingle, or something. Be an ambassador for his country. Or something.

Yuuri was an incredibly incompetent ambassador.

“Yuuri,” Celestino said from behind him as Yuuri dragged his equipment out towards the athletes exit of the arena. “What’s on your mind?”

In response, Yuuri only sighed and kept walking.

“Yuuri!” his name was called again, but this time definitely not by Celestino.

It was a voice that had only spoken to him once, only today actually, but that he would recognize anywhere, speaking any language.

And Yuuri couldn’t help but spin around on his heal and stare as Viktor Nikiforov came bounding towards him.

And apparently, he wanted a photograph.

And then it was only another second before Viktor was standing in front of him, saying that out loud.

“We should take a commemorative photo together!"

“ _Tell him you’re getting them with all your competitors_ ,” Yuuri caught the thought and immediately realized that he was staring right at Viktor, gapingly so and horrifically out of character.

Yuuri could tell so by the look of shock and surprise on Celestino’s face that he caught as he gave himself whiplash looking away.

“Oh, are you getting them with all your competitors?” Yuuri murmured to the ground.

Viktor didn’t respond and after long enough, Yuuri found himself looking back up at the other man, wondering if he’d disappeared again.

But he was not so lucky. And when he took in Viktor’s face again, the thought that crossed the other man's mind immediately came out of his mouth.

“No, only you,” he said with a wink. “Now come on!”

And just like that, Viktor threw and arm around Yuuri and pulled him into his side and was holding out his phone in front of both of them. Yuuri looked at the screen to see Viktor smiling and looking unfairly suave. Yuuri on the other hand looked wide-eyed and unsure, like an overwhelmed fan drowning in the glow of Viktor’s persona.

“Smile!”

Yuuri tried to, unsure what else to do, managing to get himself to hold up a v sign.

“Great!” Viktor said after the picture was taken. “Now, if you give me your phone number, I can text it to you!”

“What?”

“So you can have a copy, although I’ll probably post it on Instagram, if that’s okay, yeah?”

“What?” Yuuri repeated

He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

“Here, give me your phone,” Viktor said.

Yuuri just stood there for a second, before he found his hand reaching into his pocket and handing Viktor his phone, as if being controlled by maybe some kind of dream version of himself, who these things were actually happening to, because they couldn't be happening in his actual life-- Yuuri have would never let them.  He knew better.

“I put in my number and texted my phone, so now we both have each other’s numbers. I’ll send you the photo later.”

“Um, okay,” Yuuri said, as Viktor tucked Yuuri’s phone back into his hand.

"Among other things," Viktor added and Yuuri gaped again, although Viktor's mind didn't elaborate-- another small miracle. 

“Vitya!” a voice called.

Then another voice shouted something in Russian, sounding frustrated. Yuuri turned to see Viktor’s coach Yakov and the other Yuri standing over by the exit.

“Oh no, I’ve got to go,” Viktor said, looking over his shoulder at his coach and rinkmate and Yuuri took the opportunity to look away again. “I’ll text you later, yeah?"

Yuuri didn’t say anything, just nodded while staring at his shoes.

But then because of course, there was a hand on his shoulder and Yuuri was looking up again. Viktor’s eyes were such a strange, but obviously stunning color.

And Viktor’s mouth said, “Bye, Yuuri,” but his mind promised. “ _Later.”_

Yuuri had no idea what that could have possibly meant but didn’t have time to find out even if he wanted to, because than as quickly as he’d came, Viktor left.

After a few seconds of standing awkwardly in his wake, Yuuri glanced over at his coach.

Celestino was staring at him with his eyebrows raised.

“What?” Yuuri asked.

“I’ve just never seen someone be so forward,” Celestino said. “Although I have seen you be that completely helpless.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” although Yuuri didn’t ask it so much as a question as he did state defensively. “Viktor’s reputation precedes him, he’s always that… friendly,” Yuuri stammered.

Celestino just rolled his eyes and thought something that had Yuuri closing his eyes to make sure he didn’t hear the rest of.

He heard Celestino sigh.

“Tired?” he asked and Yuuri kept his eyes closed and took a slow breath as a response. “Let’s get going then.”

Yuuri opened his eyes only after he'd turned back towards the exit and started walking again.

“Although Viktor might just try and keep you up half the night texting by the looks of it, so it may be a lost cause,” Celestino added, clearly trying to sound flippant but obviously knowing the effect a comment like that would have on Yuuri.

And thus, as if it was written in a script for his life, Yuuri stared at the ground fiercely as he blushed.

“No way,” he muttered, but as if on cue, his phone vibrated in his hand.

Yuuri refused to check who it was from.

It was probably just Phichit.

Or Mari with pictures of poor Vicchan.

Or his mother or Minako, congratulating him.

Again.

Celestino laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

Yuuri Katsuki was never going to come out from under the duvet of his bed ever again, he’d decided.

To get back to Detroit, Celestino maybe could roll him and the duvet off the bed into a box and fly them both in cargo.

But he was done. Finished.

Yuuri had assumed that if anything finally damned him, it would be mind reading related.

But before being a mind reader, apparently Yuuri was still a human.

A spectacularly awkward and stupid one, who would now never be able to face the world again.

“Yuuri,” Celestino said, tugging on the end of the blanket. “You have to get dressed.”

Yuuri only groaned and tucked the duvet tighter against him.

“Yuuri, did something happen?”

Celestino sounded worried.

Yuuri sighed and untucked his head out from under the blanket.

He was probably overreacting

Maybe he could still face the world, more broadly.

Just not Viktor Nikiforov, in particular.

Yuuri had known that his, whatever, with the other man would have to be short lived anyway. The eighteen hours that he’d made it in some kind of… acquaintanceship with Viktor was probably too long, anyway.

It was all that was right in the world for Yuuri to go back to watching Viktor’s life from afar, while Viktor barely knew Yuuri existed.

“Do I have to go to the banquet?” Yuuri said, sitting up and swinging his feet over the side of the bed, although still keeping the duvet wrapped over his back like a shell. “Just this once, can I have a stomachache? I promise I’ll never ever not do exactly what you tell me ever again,” Yuuri said, chancing a glance up at Celestino.

Celestino crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Yuuri skeptically. Yuuri knew the answer was no, even without being a mind reader.

“What happened?” Celestino asked.

Yuuri sighed again.

After the competition had ended yesterday, he’d gotten back to his hotel room and after showering and getting into bed, he’d passed out before he’d even remembered to check his phone, leaving Phichit, his family, and potentially Viktor Nikiforov ignored.

Which was probably a small miracle.

And then Celestino had let Yuuri sleep in the next morning, and while Yuuri had woken up and checked the time on his phone to see not only two texts from Phichit, but also a three from Viktor, he had found himself too rushed to get dressed and eat something in order to make it to the exhibition to take the time to read and respond to them.

And then Yuuri went to watch the exhibitions and it seemed like such a useless time to respond to Viktor, since the other man was clearly busy, as Yuuri could see as he watched Viktor and his coach at the edge of the rink waiting his turn and then eventually Viktor on the ice. But while of course he saw Viktor, the other man was on the rink, while Yuuri was in the stands.

But then the exhibition ended, and Yuuri went back to the hotel with Celestino to get ready for the banquet that he was due at in a few hours. And because Yuuri wasn’t usually the take-very-long to get ready kind of person (at least not in terms of primping, maybe in terms of lying in bed and trying to psych himself up for participating in life), Yuuri finally got around to answering his text messages as he lay in bed.

He texted Phichit first, assuring his rinkmate that he’d be back in Detroit in two days and he could consult on the designs for the King and the Skater themed costume that he was already planning for next season then.

Then he opened the conversation with a number that was labeled “Viktor 😘.”

Yuuri decided not to, well, not overanalyze, but analyze that at all.

Although it what he read through couldn’t technically be called a conversation, currently. It was three texts from Viktor, without a response from Yuuri. The first read, “ _Hi Yuuri, it’s Viktor!”_

The second was the photograph of Yuuri and Viktor together, Viktor looking exactly how you’d imagine he would look, and Yuuri looking far too starstruck and startled.

And then there was a third that read, “ _Here’s the photo! Will you watch the exhibitions tomorrow?”_

Yuuri stared at the screen and bit his lip, frozen in indecision, for far too long.

“ _I did_ ,” Yuuri sent. “ _You were great.”_

That seemed like a fairly neutral choice of positive adjective. Also true. Of course it would have also been true to call him wonderful, beautiful, miraculous, prodigious, brilliant, extraordinary, etc. but Yuuri did not want to be mistaken for being too… Yuuri couldn’t even really fully consider it. Desperate? Thought to be flirting?

The first maybe. The second would imply that Viktor even recognized him as a potential… whatever… which someone like him definitely did not think of someone like Yuuri.

The response he got back from Viktor was not instantaneous, but the speed of light compared to Yuuri’s previous response time.

“ _Aw thanks_ ❤️” Viktor replied. “ _And you’ll be at the banquet tonight, yes?”_

“ _Yeah_ ,” Yuuri replied.

“ _Can I ask your opinion on something?_ ” Viktor replied and Yuuri found himself sucking in a nervous anticipatory breath.

Not that Viktor was going to ask anything particular important or meaningful, Yuuri knew intellectually. But physically, Yuuri’s body only seemed to understand that Viktor could say absolutely anything, any possible combination of words in the universe. And there was so many combinations of words in the universe that if they came out of Viktor’s mouth might cause Yuuri’s heart to stop.

“ _Sure_ ,” Yuuri replied.

This response took a bit longer. Only maybe a minute or two, but long enough for Yuuri to be more aware of the beating of his heart than anyone really needed to be.

It wasn’t too long though before a message came in.

“ _Which pair of socks should I wear?_ ” Viktor asked, and shortly after it, a picture of two different pairs of socks, one with pastel stripes, and one with little roses printed all over them, appeared as well. “ _This is the suit I’m wearing_ ,” he followed up, and a picture of a grey suit hung up on the back of a closet door was sent as well.

And Yuuri did not know how to respond.

He knew that Viktor did have the option to say any combination of words to him, but he honestly hadn’t expected the words that he chose to be so random.

“ _Um,_ ” he sent. “ _I’m not really sure I’m the best person to ask_.”

Yuuri wasn’t exactly known as a fashion icon. Especially not in comparison to Viktor, whose costumes were legendary.

“ _What are you wearing tonight, then?”_ Viktor asked.

Too lazy to get up to take a picture of his own suit, Yuuri dug through his camera roll and sent Viktor a picture him wearing his suit from Skate Canada’s banquet, posed between Phichit and Celestino.

“ _My suit_.”

“ _You only have one?”_

“ _Yes?_ ”

“ _Hm_ ,” Viktor replied. “ _And what kind of socks?”_

“ _Black ones?_ ” Yuuri said. Or, probably, anyway, unless he’d forgotten to pack them, which happened from time to time, then he’d wear whatever Celestino had to lend him or the least smelly pair of athletic socks he wore to skate.

“ _You don’t have any fun socks?”_

“ _I thought you were only supposed to wear black or blue dress socks, depending on whether you were wearing brown or black shoes and the color of your pants?”_

“ _Yuuri!”_ Viktor sent, and Yuuri’s heart rate elevated. “ _You really don’t own any non-solid colored socks_? Socks are the easiest point of entry to make a statement and have some fun without becoming socially unacceptable in your fashion choices.”

Yuuri wasn’t aware that Viktor was concerned about being socially acceptable in his fashion choices, based on some of the drama his costumes has stirred up over the years.

But then, maybe the socks were starting to seem obvious, if not an inevitable facet of Viktor’s character.

Yuuri was just in all honesty surprised he didn’t know or hadn’t read about Viktor’s socks on some trivia list.

“ _Um_ ,” Yuuri said as he thought. He hadn’t really given it too much thought to the kinds of socks he owned. “ _I do have a pair with ducks on them that my mom gave me once. I’m not sure why_ ,” he said. “ _Oh!”_ he sent, as he remembered something. “ _I have two pairs of duck socks actually, Phichit gave me a pair too,_ ” Yuuri hadn’t thought about it much until this moment. He wore them both occasionally, but not as dress socks. “ _I wonder if people think I’m really into dicks_.”

“😲” Viktor sent and Yuuri wasn’t sure why Viktor was so insulted by his duck socks, but then he reread his last text.

And this is where Yuuri died, descending from earth into his own personal hell.

“ _I meant ducks!!!!_ ” Yuuri sent quickly. “ _DUCKS!_ ”

But, just when Yuuri had thought it couldn’t get any worse, Viktor had sent another text.

“ _Haha it’s fine_ ,” he sent, and Yuuri was almost reassured. But then Viktor sent another text, “ _But speaking of though, are you?_ 😉 ”

And that was where Yuuri flung down his phone, his heart pounding in his chest, and cocooned himself into his duvet.

He of course could not bear to recount any of this to Celestino though, so instead he just shook his head.

“Never mind,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Mmhmm,” Celestino hummed, clearly not believing Yuuri for a second. “Well, go on and get dressed. We should be down to the ballroom in half an hour for dinner.

Yuuri groaned as he stood up from the bed and made his way over to the bathroom, dragging his duvet cape behind him.

“Do you know how much bacteria there is on hotel room floors?” Celestino provided helpful commentary to Yuuri’s life choices.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Yuuri asked as he gathered up his duvet, so it no longer was dragging along the floor, none the less. “It kills me?”

“Wow, okay,” Celestino said. “Viktor Nikiforov wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would he?”

“No!” Yuuri said quickly, but his voice squeaked. “I have to get ready!” he said, trying to close the door to the bathroom but his blanket repeatedly getting caught in the door.

Celestino started to laugh and Yuuri finally got the door closed, slamming it behind him.

He regretted ever having put on a pair of skates.

*

Yuuri Katsuki was avoiding Viktor Nikiforov.

Although that wasn’t too hard, because Viktor Nikiforov seemed to be very busy chatting with ISU officials, sponsor representatives, etc. And because he was Viktor Nikiforov and had better things to do than to ask Japanese figure skaters about their opinions on penises.

And so Yuuri, on the other hand, stood in the back of the ballroom like a wallflower, eyeing the table that had rows of champagne lined up on it longingly.

Drinking would only make things worse, inevitably, Yuuri reminded himself.

Yuuri had a strict sober policy. He had a secret too big to ever get too lose lipped.

Yuuri knew well how alcohol worked. He’d seen Minako passed out in front of the television after various athletic events (although Minako was more likely to drink her way through a seasonal broadcast of The Nutcracker than she was any sport that involved a ball) throughout his life. And while he’d only ever witnessed it once, he’d heard many tales from his mother and Minako about how his father handled his alcohol.

And it had only taken Yuuri one night of drinking after arriving in the US to skate to find out that it was genetic.

And Yuuri of course had no idea what he said or did that night. It had been long enough now that he no longer feared consequences, but he couldn’t risk pulling out his ability like it was a party trick.

But boy could he use a drink tonight.

“You look like you could use a drink,” someone said aloud from beside him with too good timing, and Yuuri turned to see Chris, holding out a glass of champagne.

 _Maybe just one_ , Yuuri found himself thinking as he looked at it and then at Chris, who was smiling in a mischievous way that only reinforced Yuuri’s decision and his need.

“Thanks,” Yuuri murmured, taking the glass and a small sip.

“ _I didn’t think he’d take it_ ,” he caught Chris think.

 _Maybe only half a glass_ , Yuuri found himself countering with himself in response.

“So, what’s got you over here sulking?” Chris asked.

“Nothing,” Yuuri said, glancing across the room to ensure that Viktor was still across the room. Chris, though, followed Yuuri’s glance.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “Did something happen?”

“No, of course not,” Yuuri said quickly.

“Mm,” Chris hummed and crossed his arms over his chest. “We can do this the easy way, or the even easier way,” Chris said.

“What?” Yuuri asked.

“Well, I mean, it would probably be easy enough for you to tell me, but I bet it would be even easier for me to get Viktor to tell me,” Chris said, taking a swing of his drink casually.

“No!” Yuuri gasped.

“Well then?”

Yuuri sighed and took and large sip from his glass. The champagne flute was either deceivingly narrow with thick glass or Yuuri was too thirsty because he was already nearly halfway down the glass.

“Come on, I don’t have all night,” Chris said, but his smile was already victorious.

“Wait a second,” Yuuri said, digging into his pocket to retrieve his phone and opening up his text messages.

He handed Chris the phone.

For a few seconds Chris was silent as he read through the exchange.

Yuuri chugged the rest of the champagne and handed the glass off to a passing waiter.

 _No more_ , Yuuri promised himself.

Then Chris let out a laugh loud enough to turn the heads of everyone nearby and Yuuri stared at him with his eyes wide.

Quickly, Yuuri snatched the phone back as he felt his face flush.

“Oh, darling,” Chris said, still chuckling. “You’re adorable.”

Yuuri stuffed his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and curled in on himself with a huff.

“You should talk to him.”

Yuuri shook his head furiously, still staring at the ground.

“No, I really shouldn’t.”

“So, you wouldn’t be interested in his dick?”

Yuuri choked on air.

“I’m not talking about this,” he said, turning on his heal, not quite sure where he was going, but okay with it as long as it was anywhere but here.

“Yuuri,” Chris whined, but Yuuri stormed across the ballroom. Maybe the restrooms. He could hide out there.

Or maybe he’d stayed long enough he could leave.

But then a hand wrapped around his waist, and Yuuri was pulled backwards, spinning into a firm chest.

“What?” Yuuri sputtered in surprise.

“You didn’t answer my question, zolotse,” a voice that Yuuri would recognize anywhere, although the accent was thicker than usual, purred in his ear.

Yuuri managed to spin himself around so that he was facing Viktor, although the other man’s hand was still wrapped around Yuuri’s waist, tethering them together so that Yuuri could barely keep a few centimeters between their chests.

But the problem of the space between them stopped being Yuuri’s biggest problem as he stared, wide-eyed, up and Viktor.

“ _God, I’m so awful. And not funny. No one has ever said, ‘Oh, there’s that Viktor Nikiforov, such a funny guy!’ have they? No, they’ve said a lot of things, nothing like that. Idiot._ ”

Yuuri had reached a hand up to push against Viktor’s chest to break free, but the action had been aborted as he found himself caught in the stream of self-deprecating thoughts. Instead, Yuuri stood there, frozen, his hand covering Viktor’s heart, which was beating rather quickly.

“ _I should never get off the ice_ ,” Viktor thought. “ _That’s the only place I’m any good. People think I’m good there. He thinks I’m good there. He thinks I’m great there. And now I’m standing here, what, a glass of champagne into the night and I’m holding him hostage and practically drooling on him_.”

The word that followed didn’t seem to quite translate to Yuuri, but it was some kind of curse. Unfortunately, at least as Yuuri tended to see it, Yuuri’s mind reading abilities seemed to transcend languages, transmitting to him more as ideas and concepts than specific words and then somehow turning into thoughts in Yuuri’s mind. That is, barring some words and phrases that didn’t quite translate conceptually between languages easily.

Yuuri apparently didn’t have a grasp on the concept that was expressed by that particular word. Or the three that followed it.

“ _God, I wish he’d say something,”_   Viktor thought, and it took Yuuri a second to remember the “he” Viktor was thinking about was probably him. Probably. It seemed unfeasible to Yuuri but made sense contextually.

“Um,” Yuuri stammered. “Er, sorry.”

It was all Yuuri could say, although probably not helpful. He didn’t know how to respond, knowing what he knew now.

He’d never expected to step inside Viktor’s head and for it to feel so much like his own.

But in that moment, Viktor drew in a breath and then suddenly took a step backwards, giving Yuuri space, and as he did Yuuri found himself able to take the opportunity to look away from Viktor’s face.

And then there they stood, Yuuri staring at Viktor’s shoes, which were a pace in front of his.

“No,” Viktor was saying, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Yuuri found himself asking, although he couldn’t imagine why. He wasn’t sure how his mouth or his brain even still worked because Yuuri felt a bit like what he imagined it would be like to find out that you’ve lived your whole life in a simulation.

Above him, Viktor made a small sound, like he started to speak and then aborted.

“If I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Viktor said after another moment. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri said quickly, apparently on some kind of autopilot, being fed lines by whoever was frantically trying to keep the simulation running from some control room somewhere.

And then there was silence.

Maybe there had been a fire in that control room. Maybe Yuuri was flying solo in this brave new world.

Yuuri tentatively glanced up, carefully avoiding Viktor’s face, but instead watched his elbow, which was bent besides his head as he scratched the back of his neck.

“These things can be kind of awful sometimes, can’t they?” Viktor said after a moment.

Yuuri nodded.

“They should just let us have a couple hours of open skate or something instead,” Yuuri murmured.

“Yeah,” Viktor said. “Yeah, that would be great actually. It’s too hot in here.”

Yuuri nodded.

And then, whoever was in the control room must have put out the fire and regained control, because what Yuuri said next could not have been his responsibility.

“Hey,” he said, a little tentatively, not looking at Viktor’s face, but shifting his glance a little closer to maybe give the illusion that he was. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.

Although Yuuri didn’t look at Viktor face to confirm, he could tell with the kind of sixth sense he had for reading people without looking at them that he was surprised.

But then, without more than a second of hesitation, Viktor said, “Yes. I would love to.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, because I commemorate all major life events by updating fics, you get a chapter of this because I signed a lease on an apartment. And it's longer than the other chapters of this fic, so that's nice.

“One for the road?” Yuuri asked, grabbing two more glasses of champagne and handing one to Viktor.

Viktor shrugged but took the glass and clinked it against Yuuri’s, “Tvayo zdarovye.”

“Kanpai,” Yuuri responded.

Yuuri wasn’t sure why he was doing this. The drinks, but also any of this.

Maybe he hoped Viktor was a blackout drunk too and he could get the other man to forget him.

But then that was more intentional than Yuuri was feeling right now. Right now he felt like he was flying blind. This was very uncharted territory for him, being whatever previously suppressed version of himself this was.

Yuuri took his own glass and downed it, and Viktor followed suit, appearing to be much more practiced than Yuuri at it.

“So, how do we get out of here?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri raised his eyebrows.

“I was thinking the door.”

“Can we do that?”

Yuuri shrugged.

“I mean, Celestino might text me after we’ve gone being like, ‘What the heck, Yuuri?” but I can’t imagine that anyone will rush to barricade the doors on our way out.”

“Oh, okay,” Viktor said. “Of course.”

“If you want, we can, er, leave separately. They’d think we’re going to the restroom or something.”

Viktor furrowed his brow and there were a lot of thoughts suddenly in his mind, but they could be summed up as a, “ _No, no, no, that’s won’t do.”_

And then Viktor reached down and grabbed his hand.

“You’re right, if we’re going to go, we might as well give them something to talk about after we’re gone.”

And then Viktor was pulling him out of the ballroom.

Yuuri didn’t have time to process it, or maybe his brain was just unable to. Viktor was holding his hand. Viktor was holding his hand and their abrupt movement turned heads as they headed for the exit. There were witnesses. They could all see it. Viktor’s hand— wrapped around his.

And by the time they pushed out of the doors, they were running.

Out through the hotel lobby, out onto the sidewalk.

Then they stood there panting.

The night was cool, warmer than it had been yesterday, but still enough of a chill that Yuuri was glad to be wearing a full suit. And it was quiet—little more than a soft drone of traffic from the street and the sound of him and Viktor breathing.

“So what now?” Yuuri asked.

Viktor laughed.

“I thought you had an idea?”

Yuuri shook his head.

“The weather has been very strange this weekend, it was snowing yesterday, which is unusual for Sochi, at least certainly still in November, and then today it’s very mild,” Viktor said.

“I don’t imagine that Sochi has like a public outdoor rink, do they?” Yuuri said, adding a slightly strained chuckled to do his best to imitation of casualness.

“I don’t believe so,” Viktor replied. “But, oh, I have an idea!” Yuuri watched as his face lit up, but then found himself looking instinctively away before he could catch onto exactly what that idea was.

Not that Yuuri loved surprises, but he almost felt like right now he didn’t mind being caught up in Viktor’s enigma like this.

“Yeah?” he said, tilting his head to the side a bit as he looked past Viktor out into the street.

“Come with me.”

And then Viktor was holding his hand again. And he still could not make sense of it, but quickly began to minimize it this time at least. It was practical—them holding hands. How else would they not get lost as they ran through downtown in the Aldersky District of Sochi.

Soon, the sea started to appear on the horizon, shimmering against the glow of the city lights and the moon.

Then they stood at the edge of a beach, a small concrete cliff of a drop-off between the sidewalk and the sand.

“Wait here a second, yeah?” Viktor said, squeezing Yuuri’s hand before letting go.

And then Yuuri was standing alone on the sidewalk, trying to catch his breath.

But then a few minutes passed, and Viktor didn’t return and although Yuuri’s breath was steady again, his mind began to run.

More time passed, and Yuuri sat down on the ledge, his feet dangling, toes brushing in the sand.

Yuuri started to wonder if maybe he should try and find Viktor—maybe he’d forgotten where he’d left him. Or, maybe he should just start trying to find his way back to the hotel, because Viktor probably got caught up in something else more important than whatever it was that he was doing with Yuuri.

But then someone sat down on the ledge beside him.

“I’m back,” Viktor said, a hand reaching over and patting Yuuri’s thigh. “Sorry that I took so long.”

Yuuri just shrugged and stared at the hand on his thigh, then followed the arm back over to Viktor.

“What’d you get?” Yuuri asked, referencing the small bundle of what looked like sticks that Viktor was holding in the hand that wasn’t touching Yuuri.

“Come here and I’ll show you,” Viktor said, hopping down from the ledge onto the sand.

Yuuri followed because it seemed to be the only thing that could possibly be done at this point in the evening.

They walked down the beach closer to the shore. The beach was nearly empty, although not to anyone’s surprise—it was a Sunday night in November. Yuuri thought he could spy a man walking a dog farther down the coast, and every so often people would pass on the sidewalk back above the beach where they had come from, but otherwise the night was theirs.

“Here,” Viktor said, taking on of the sticks that he was holding and handing it to Yuuri.

“What’s this?” Yuuri asked, examining the stick, but having a hard time making it out any distinguishing features of it in the darkness.

Instead he chanced a glance at Viktor to see if he could find the answer there.

Viktor’s mind was easy to slide into.

Oh, they were fireworks.

And oh, Viktor was imagining Yuuri dancing, twirling around and tracing light through the night.

Yuuri looked away, and in his own mind knocked himself out of the image he’d gotten from Viktor’s mind and replaced himself with Viktor.

That made more sense—Viktor looked beautiful.

“Let me show you,” Viktor said, although now Yuuri knew. And as he looked back at Viktor and found his excitement, Yuuri regretted spoiling it. Viktor was eager for a reaction from Yuuri, to see joy on his face, Yuuri knew, again from a source so intimate it was Viktor himself.

But Yuuri didn’t have too much more time to regret or to scold himself, because as Viktor reached into his suit pocket to fish around for something—a lighter, evidently, Yuuri picked up because he’d forgotten to look away again— there was a shout from nearby.

“Hey!” someone called. Yuuri felt a wave of adrenaline course through him as it occurred to him that perhaps they were doing something they we’re supposed to. But then the voice followed up—“What do you two losers think you’re doing?”

That didn’t sound like the scolding of a lifeguard or police officer or whatever it was that Yuuri was imagining, it sounded a lot like—

Yuuri spun around to see Yuri Plisetsky storming down the beach.

“Yura!” Viktor called. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the banquet, you are the junior champion after all!”

Yuri, who was now standing just a little ways front of them, sputtered.

“Shouldn’t _I_?” he spat. “What the fuck, what about you?”

“Oh, we’ve been to many banquets, you do not need to worry about us,” Viktor said.

Yuri let out a loud, exasperated groan.

“What are you doing here, anyway!” he said. “It’s November. The water is probably freezing.”

“Does it look like we were going to go swimming, Yura?” Viktor asked.

“You walking straight into the ocean in a suit would probably be the least stupid thing you’ve done all week, and not because it’s not stupid, but because your personal bar is that low,” Yuri snapped.

Yuuri, his heart rate coming down as it became apparent that the scolding they were receiving was not as threatening as he’d initially imagined it being when he’d first heard a yell, couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Viktor and Yuri were still arguing when Yuuri grabbed another sparkler out of the bundle that Viktor was holding.

“Here,” Yuuri said, offering the stick to Yuri.

“What the fuck is this?” Yuri asked.

“Just take it.”

Yuri snatched it from him. And then immediately proceeded to jab Viktor in the side with it.

“Hey!” Viktor said, although he didn’t make any move to step away from Yuri’s prodding. “That’s not very nice.”

Yuuri sighed and reached into Viktor’s jacket pocket, feeling for the lighter he knew was in there and pulling it out.

“Hey!” Viktor said. “What are you doing?”

“Hold out your stick,” Yuuri said. Viktor looked at him with a furrow brow and Yuri looked up only for a moment to scowl before looking down into the sand, where he was now using his sparkler stick to write out “FUCK YOU” in the sand.

“Come on, both of you,” Yuuri said, taking the bundle of fireworks that Viktor was still holding from him and pulling one out and handing it to Viktor before throw the rest in the sand.

Eventually, Viktor seemed to come to and held out his firework towards Yuuri, and Yuri reluctantly followed. Then, Yuuri leant forward and flicked the lighter—it took him a few tried it get it to catch—and lit the ends of the fireworks.

Then, rather anticlimactically, they stood there, sparklers held out between, a burst of light brightening their faces.

Yuuri looked at Yuri through the light, and found that the thoughts that lay within him still mostly resentful, although he could tell that the boredom was a bit of an act as curiosity was wearing away at the edges.

Then he looked at Viktor.

And Viktor was looking right back at him.

And his mind was awe.

Yuuri wasn’t quite sure why.

“So, are we just going to stand here until they burn up?” Yuri asked, thankfully pulling Yuuri out of Viktor’s mind before he could accidently drown in there.

Yuuri knew the right answer, and the one to go along with his apparently newly unearthed confidence (or insanity) would be to suddenly enact fun through a sense of joy and wonder.

That however was not exactly anything Yuuri had experience with.

Viktor, however, came to the rescue.

“I bet I can do a double Lutz!” Viktor said.

Yuri scoffed.

“Just on your feet, with the extra traction of the sand? It’s like reverse ice. You’re gonna fall on your ass and burn your face off.”

Yuuri actually, might have agreed, but before he could Viktor took off running, waving his arms behind him. Then he launched himself into the air, the arm that was holding the firework held above his head in a Tano position as he spun in the air.

He did not, in fact make it a full two rotations. And given that he was wearing a pair of dress shoes and landing in the sand, in the dark, it was hard to tell if his feet were even in a remotely correct position to fully count as a Lutz.

But still he landed, swooping the firework down around his body and it was possibly the most magical thing that Yuuri had ever seen.

For a second Yuuri wondered maybe if he could sneak some sparkers into Ice Castle some day and actually skate with them. The rink in Detroit, as well as most other professional facilities probably would never allow it and ban him for life if he tried to bring explosives into the rink. But Ice Castle, late at night with only a few of the lights turned on, and Viktor and him spinning across the ice.

But then, why would Viktor be at Ice Castle. Hell, Yuuri hadn’t even been in years.

It was all an irrelevant daydream, and an inappropriate time to be daydreaming as well, considering right now, in real time, Yuri was running off with his sparker in the opposite direction from where Viktor had run.

“Watch this loser, I’ll show you some actual artistry.”

It was funny to watch the performance that Yuri gave. His face in the glowing light was angry, almost violent in the way the shadows caught it, but he waved the firework with the skill of a rhythmic gymnast.

Then Yuri looked back at Viktor, who was not watching Yuri at all, but instead he was tracing his firework in a wave pattern while spinning in slow circles.

Then Viktor looked up at him, his face glowing against the sparker’s light as it still crackled in his hand.

“ _I wonder if this is what it feels like?_ ” Viktor thought and Yuuri’s body tingled.

 _“What_ what _feels like_ ,” Yuuri thought to himself. But he didn’t have too much time to consider, because then Yuri was running up to him again and shouting—

“Give me two this time!”

Yuuri looked back over at Viktor.

“I would like two as well,” he said as he walked back towards them.

“Alright,” Yuuri said, retrieving the bundle of fireworks from where he had dropped it and dolling out the remaining sticks and retrieving Viktor’s lighter from where he’d stashed it in his own pocket.

And then once the fireworks had been set alight once again, Yuri was running back across the beach in one direction, and Viktor broke off in another.

And because it seemed like the think to do, Yuuri ran as well, expanding the triangle between them and trailing his fireworks in the air behind him.

He heard laughter in the distance, and turned to see Viktor running down the coast, still waving his sparkers around him.

Then as if sensing his gaze, Viktor turned to look back at him. His eyes were full of mirth and sparking against the twinkling light of the fireworks.

It wasn’t a coherent thought that came to him, nor were there any kind of clear image. Instead it was just a feeling. It was a feeling that Yuuri was sure he must have felt before because of how warm and familiar if felt, but at the same time hit him in a way that made his insides twist and his gasp as an invisible weight slammed into his chest.

If Yuuri had to name what it was, it he might have called it happiness. But there was also something more.

But when Viktor turned away from him to keep running, the feeling stayed with Yuuri, and he realized he was smiling.

And then he was running again.

He ran down the water of the sea and stopped short so as not to get him feet wet as waves lapped up onto the shore. Standing still at the water’s edge, he watched as the fireworks burned out, leaving him again only in the moonlight.

And the night was still and nearly quiet. He could hear Viktor’s and Yuuri’s feet thudding on the sand and the crackling of the fireworks and the whoosh of the waves against the sand.

And then in another moment of doing something because it felt like the only thing that could be done, in spite of his better judgement, he let out a cry. A loud, bellowing shout out to the sea, as if he was trying to relieve some of the overwhelming pressure building in his chest, and to let go of the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto.

Then someone came up from behind him and an arm wrapped around his neck and pulled them both into the tide. Yuuri stumbled into the water, his feet slapping into the cold sea.  

“Ahhhooww,” Viktor screamed from beside him, out into the vast darkness of the sea.

Then there was silence, only breathing. And it was unbearable.

“Ahhhhhgggghhhhh,” Yuuri screamed in response.

Then they both were laughing.

Viktor hand reached up and ruffled the hair on the back of Yuuri’s head, and Yuuri ducked down instinctively. But Viktor ducked down to match, and their foreheads bumped together, and for a moment they stared, point blank range, into each other’s eyes.

“ _This_ ,” was the only thought in Viktor’s mind, though it echoed. “ _This.”_ And then, “ _We shout for this.”_

And when Viktor’s hand fell from the back of Yuuri’s head, Yuuri took the cue, and they both stood up straight, and Viktor pulled Yuuri closer to him, the crook of his arm around Yuuri’s neck.

And then together, they yelled out into the sea, their voices carrying all the strength and confidence of a prophet or a politician, except heard by no one, or maybe rather everyone, as they deadened the silence of night.

*

“So what now?” Yuri asked.

They were lying in the sand. Yuuri wasn’t quite sure how they ended up there. Of course he knew that Viktor had led him, and his arm still stuck around Yuuri’s shoulder, up away from the sea. He knew that Viktor had fallen down into the sand, pulling Yuuri down with him. He knew they had both laughed. He knew he was not remotely drunk enough to explain or excuse this behavior from other of them.

But yet there they were. And when Yuri had come and called them idiots and Viktor had refused to get up, the younger skater had laid down above their heads. And there they had lay, for how long, Yuuri didn’t know. Long enough for Yuuri to grow tired. But probably not long enough for Yuuri’s and Viktor’s shoes and socks, which were now laid out in the sand, to dry off in the sea breeze.

And Yuuri was starting to doze. Viktor’s arm was under him and his head was lolling against Viktor’s shoulder. He was trying not to think about it anymore. It would be easier to sleep than to think about it.

“Not sure,” Viktor said. “I believe we were, what is the expression, playing it by ear? Although you could perhaps go back to the hotel and go to bed before you upset poor Yakov.”

“Oh, poor Yakov, yeah right,” Yuri spat. “I’m here to babysit you to keep you from giving the old man an aneurysm.”

Yuuri listened, half asleep, as the rinkmates argued.

“Oh?” Viktor said. “I hardly see how I would do that.”

“You mean like by running away from the banquet with some boy and falling asleep with him on the beach, to be caught in the morning by someone with a camera so that your pictures end up on gossip websites and in tabloid magazines?”

The onomatopoetic equivalent of an exclamation mark next to a question mark sounded in Yuuri’s mind, but he was too deep into the process of falling asleep for it to stir his body. It was definitely past his usual bedtime. Yuuri was sometimes a night owl, but he always crashed after competitions.

“I wouldn’t let Yuuri sleep on a beach, not good for his body. He has nationals soon.”

“So do you!” Yuri growled. “And well, what are you going to do with him?” Yuuri heard Yuri’s voice, though it felt distant and had the falseness of a dream as Yuuri lost to exhaustion.

Viktor’s response was the last thing he heard, although he may have already been dreaming, “I’ll carry him home.”

*

 Yuuri woke up to sunlight streaming in the window and the shadow of a figure standing over him.

“Ah!” Yuuri startled awake, thoroughly disoriented.

He took in his surroundings, trying to situate himself in place and time.

He was in a hotel room…he was at a competition….he was in Sochi… he was at the Grand Prix final…and then in an instant it all clicked back to him.

He looked up at the person standing at his bedside.

He was both disappointed and relieved to find that it was Celestino.

He had his arms crossed over his chest.

Yuuri pursed his lips sympathetically, not quite a smile, but less than his previous grimace.

“Morning?” he said, although stating it more like a question.

“You’re awake,” Celestino said, and Yuuri still couldn’t read anything from him, but it wasn’t looking great.

“I, uh,” Yuuri said, but then he sighed decided to just go for it. “Sorry for running off last night.”

“Mmhmm,” Celestino said. “Are you really?”

In that moment, Yuuri remembered Viktor’s hand in his hand, his hand on his thigh, his arm around his shoulder, his hand ruffling his hair, how beautiful he looked with his fireworks in the moonlight.

He immediately felt nauseated.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “I think I am.”

But he wasn’t really, Yuuri knew somewhere inside him. It was buried well beneath the panic of realizing that not only was he brave and vulnerable and intimate with someone that wasn’t like, Phichit or maybe Minako, but that someone was Viktor Nikiforov, but it was there, none the less.

And then Yuuri remembered all of the things he’d heard inside of Viktor’s mind, and he flung himself face first into the mattress burying his head under the pillow.

He was always afraid that he’d be able to know too much about a person by what he could find inside of their minds. He never thought that that he could end up feeling like he knew both too much and not enough.

And he never thought that by looking at someone he could feel the way that Viktor had made him feel.

And he was not at all emotionally equipped to deal with that.

Yuuri let out a groan.

But then, as waves of emotions Yuuri didn’t want to feel hit him, something else materialized. Another idea. An alternative.

He didn’t have to. Deal with this, that is. The competition was over. Viktor was Viktor, and he was Yuuri. Viktor lived and trained in St. Petersburg, Russia. Yuuri was a Japanese skater training in Detroit. His next two competitions were Nationals and Four Continents, and Viktor would not be competing in either.

And by the time they got to Worlds, assuming that Yuuri made it that far, Viktor would surely have all but forgotten about Yuuri and their night on the beach.

“Yuuri?” Celestino asked, likely having successfully made the transition that because of Yuuri he was well practiced in from being a stern coach to realizing that his skater is beating himself up too much and growing concerned.

Yuuri turned his head out from under the pillow.

“When is our flight today?” he asked.

“Uh,” Celestino said, glancing at his watch. “A couple of hours, you should get packed up so we can check out and head to the airport soon. Is there something else you want to do this morning?”

Good. That was good.

He would go back to Detroit and he could keep his head down.

Yes, that would work.

That would work just fine.

“Okay,” Yuuri said. “Good, and no, what would there be? Let me shower really quick, okay, then we can head out?”

Celestino shrugged, looking at Yuuri with skepticism that Yuuri ignored, and Yuuri got out of bed. He realized he was still wearing his dress shirt, although all his other clothes down to his underwear had been removed.

He decided not to think about it.

Then he got into the shower and as he scrubbed his hair, he felt sand coating his scalp, sand in his ears, sand somehow plastered to his feet and ankles, and stuck between his toes.

And he decided not to think about it.

He could wash it all away. He didn’t even watch as it swirled down the drain.

Once Yuuri was sure he was free of sand, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, wrapping a towel around his waist.

“Just let me get dressed, and I can be packed in fifteen minutes,” Yuuri said as he stepped out of the bathroom and headed to his suitcase to find some fresh clothes.

“We’re not in a rush, Yuuri,” Celestino said. “Feel free to take your time. And you also may want to check your phone, it’s been vibrating non-stop.”

At that, Yuuri’s forced (and admittedly clearly slightly desperate) chipperness was wiped away, and he frowned.

“Huh?” he said, feeling a wave of dread. Whatever it was, whoever it was, Yuuri immediately knew that he wanted desperately to not have to deal with it.

But then, maybe it was just Phichit or his parents, he tried to reason with himself optimistically. _Or maybe something else had happened to Vicchan,_ he thought, and the dread returned.

So, when Celestino nodded to Yuuri’s phone where it sat on the nightstand, he went over to look at it.

The screen was alight with notifications.

But when he looked at the previews of the messages displayed there, instead of being from Phichit, or his family, or as he was of course most worried about, Viktor, there were a bunch of messages from an unsaved number.

And Yuuri unlocked his phone and went into his messages to find that they were all pictures.

So many, Yuuri had to scroll up to the top, but as he did, he was already starting to get an idea of the story the pictures told.

They were all pictures of last night. Pictures of Yuuri, Viktor and Yuuri on the beach with their fireworks. Dozens of them. Yuuri scrolled through them all, reliving the memories with each and every one.

And if it wasn’t for the frightening aspect of being watched and photographed without consent, or the fact that Yuuri was trying to forget last night instead of remembering it, Yuuri might have valued having the pictures. They were beautiful, surprisingly high-quality images of the three of them running and dancing with their sparkers on the beach.

The photos cut through the night even after the sparkers had died out, capturing Yuuri standing on the shore in the moonlight, or Viktor running up behind him, of them stumbling into the water.

And the images just kept coming.

Viktor helping Yuuri pull off his wet shoes and socks.

Yuri, standing over where Viktor and Yuuri were lying in the sand. Him lying down with them.

Surely the images would have to stop coming soon, because the night ended shortly after this point.

But then when the last few photos came through, Yuuri knew it, because the images were something that was beyond his memory.

One was of Viktor, walking up the beach, Yuri trudging along beside him, with Yuuri held bridle-style in Viktor’s arms, Yuuri’s head leaning into Viktor’s chest.

Then in the next photo, Yuri had broken off and was running ahead, up the beach and out of frame by the next shot.

And then in the next photo, it was just Viktor with Yuuri in his arms.

And then, in what Yuuri hoped had to be the last photo, because he couldn’t take more, Viktor was leaning his head slightly downward as his lips connected with Yuuri’s temple.

Yuuri couldn’t help but to reach up and touch the spot that apparently Viktor’s lips had once kissed.

And finally the pictures stopped and in came a message.

_Winning would be the least you could do for him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I promise the next thing I update will be Here Once and Back Again, although the only timeline I can promise is probably before the end of the year. But the goal is within a month or so.


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